Lippen schweigen
by austenfan1990
Summary: Based on Lehar's 'The Merry Widow' and a certain ROH production. Hanna Glawari, left with the fortune of twenty million francs, is the target of eager suitors who all want a share of her fortune. However, she has only eyes for one man who is unwilling to say the three words she longs to hear.
1. Dramatis personae

_**Lippen schweigen**_

©austenfan1990

A Narrative Retelling of Franz Lehár's _Die lustige Witwe_ or _The Merry Widow_

Original book and lyrics by Victor Léon and Leo Stein

Excerpts and lyrics from the English translation by Jeremy Sams

Partly based on the 1997 Royal Opera House production of _The Merry Widow_ with Dame Felicity Lott and Sir Thomas Allen

PARIS, 1905

Dramatis personae

Hanna Glawari…_The Merry Widow_

Count Danilo Danilovitsch…_First Secretary of the Pontevedrian Embassy in Paris_

Baron Mirko Zeta…_Pontevedrian Ambassador in Paris_

Baroness Valencienne Zeta…_The Ambassador's Wife_

Camille, Count de Rosillon…_French attaché to the Embassy and admirer of Valencienne_

Njegus…_Baron Zeta's Factotum_

Kromov…_Pontevedrian military councillor_

Olga…_Kromov's wife_

Pritschitisch…_Embassy counsel_

Bogdanovitsch…_Pontevedrian military attaché_

Sylvianne…_Bogdanovitsch's wife_

Raoul St Brioche…_French diplomat_

Vicomte Cascada…_Latin diplomat_

Lolo, Dodo, Jou-Jou, Frou-Frou, Clo-Clo, Margot…_"Grisettes" at Maxim's_

Parisians and Pontevedrians, musicians and servants


	2. Chapter 1 Bitte, meine Herr’n!

**Chapter 1 - Bitte, meine Herr'n!**

_Author's Note: I do not own The Merry Widow or the operetta's characters nor do I own the lyrics and excerpts which will be sometimes used throughout the story which are all owned by their respective owners. I only take credit for some of the characterisation and narrative which are based on and are a artistic tribute to the 1997 ROH production and the performances of the wonderful Dame Felicity Lott and Sir Thomas Allen as Hanna Glawari and Count Danilo respectively._

Baron Mirko Zeta watched the festivities in the northeast salon of the Pontevedrian Embassy with growing satisfaction.

A fine June evening had fortuitously greeted their great sovereign's birthday at their small but highly respectable quarters in Paris and his fellow Pontevedrians as well as Parisians were slowly but surely making their way through the entrance to the ball held in the Grand Duke's honour. There was laughter, music…dancing…oh, even Valencienne, his dearest Valencienne looked supremely happy tonight and that gave him a jolt of overwhelming pride. It had not been an easy few months since their marriage at the end of the last year – and there were times when he felt great sympathy for her since it was not the most desired situation for a young, lively woman of considerable standing to marry a traditional, middle-aged official like himself. She had sacrificed much for his happiness and so to see her so joyful in her flowing white evening dress and so at ease with the guests was bliss itself.

He caught her eye across the room and smiled broadly as she gave a little wave and disappeared into the crowd. He then turned to the assorted group of attachés and diplomats all immaculately dressed in evening dress and conversing animatedly amongst themselves as he made his slow, steady way towards them, himself resplendent in his official uniform, his various medals glittering in the newly installed electric light.

'Good evening, Baron.'

'Good evening, Vicomte Cascada,' he replied jovially, nodding his head at the Latin diplomat as the latter bowed politely. 'I want to thank you for your capital address at the beginning of our little _soiree_. I know that as Ambassador I'm traditionally entitled to start with the ceremonies and I'm sure that if we were in our Grand Duchy of Pontevedro, I would literally be forced by my superiors to do my duty but you looked so eager, and well…I could hardly do otherwise but give you the honour.'

'Oh, not at all, Baron,' replied Cascada smoothly, smirking a little at the Baron's increasing long-windedness. The Pontevedrian Ambassador was an efficient diplomat, he admitted inwardly, but as with all soldiers who were elevated to the rank of ambassador, there was the unavoidable pompous, stuffy air that often accompanied it when they delved into unfamiliar territory. Of course, there was the unusual exception of Count Danilo, but _that_ man always had a way with society…and particularly with the ladies. 'It was a pleasure to be at your Excellency's service and as our two nations grows closer together in relations, I could hardly do less.'

Baron Zeta spluttered with characteristic gratefulness, exchanged a few more words of thanks and moved on through the crowd, his grey head of hair a notable beacon in the mass of brightly coloured evening gowns and glittering jewellery. When it was clear that he was out of earshot, Raoul St. Brioche, who obviously overheard the exchange, declared loudly: 'What utter rubbish, Cascada!'

'My dear friend, what makes you say that?' Casacda replied levelly, gazing at the taller Frenchman who was staring at him accusatorily.

'You wouldn't make such a 'capital' address unless you had something to gain from it, _mon ami_. So _what_ a pity it was that the Merry Widow wasn't here to see you in action!' said St. Brioche sarcastically, his military-styled moustache bristling.

Cascada looked at him, amusement glittering in his eyes as he sipped his champagne lazily. 'Now _you_ are talking rubbish, _mon ami_!'

On the other side of the salon, Baron Zeta joined his wife who was deep in conversation with the Comte de Rosillon. Her visible earnestness and the way that the Comte looked at her in such an ardent fashion would have enflamed any normal man with overwhelming jealousy but not the honourable and naïve Zeta who was simply too pleased with the current success of the proceedings to let suspicion cloud his mind. He did, however, frown a little when she appeared startled at his appearance.

'My dearest, what a start you gave me!' she managed, smiling awkwardly.

'I'm sorry, Valencienne – heavens, I'm so sorry – you're turning red…' Zeta said apologetically, who took no notice of the alarmed look in the Frenchman's eyes.

'Am I?' she started, delicate gloved hands immediately rising to her face, only to put them down again. Laughing away her husband's continued apologies, she said: 'Oh, how silly of me…it's only the heat, Mirko. Don't make such a fuss of it; you'll worry yourself to death.' She turned to her companion modestly, patting her husband's shoulder affectionately. 'My husband always takes small things to heart, Comte…it really is so dear of him to worry so but sometimes he does have to take things less seriously.'

'Of course, of course. Completely understandable. Any man so deeply in love would react that way, wouldn't he, Baroness?' Camille, Comte de Rosillon remarked, eyes fixed on hers and another blush threatened to reveal itself on the young baroness's flushed cheeks at his thinly veiled comment.

Camille cleared his throat politely and pulled at his collar lightly. 'The Baroness is right, Baron…it is rather warm in here.'

Zeta shook his head apologetically. 'Ah, my apologies, Comte…but when is a ball never so?' The both of them laughed good-humouredly with Valencienne turning to her husband imploringly, taking his arm. 'Mirko, wouldn't you do a favour and accompany me to the refreshments' room? I think we are all in need of some champagne!'

'Of course, Valencienne. I would –'

Their little conversation was interrupted with the appearance of Njegus who momentarily looked apologetic at his impromptu intrusion but proceeded with great gravity to his superior: 'Your Excellency, Madame Glawari has entered the building.'

'Ah, the 'Merry Widow' herself,' Zeta nodded. 'I'm sorry, dearest, but perhaps the Comte de Rosillon will not mind in escorting you instead, wouldn't you, Comte?'

'Not at all, Baron,' replied Camille, offering his arm to the Baroness with a flourish. 'It would be a pleasure.'

Seeing his wife safely off with the more than delighted Frenchman, and again overlooking Valencienne's anxious looks aimed directly at him, Zeta followed Njegus through the laughing crowd and down the winding staircase to the front entrance.

There, the tall and black-gowned Madame Hanna Glawari, recently made widow of Monsieur Glawari, waited gracefully in the cosy foyer of the embassy and smiled as she saw the portly figure of the Ambassador and his clerk materialise through the corridor.

'Madame Glawari, a pleasure to see a fellow Pontevedrian in Paris!' exclaimed Zeta as he approached, bowing to kiss her extended hand. To his surprise, she chided him good-humouredly: 'Oh, please – Baron, not too formal! We are Pontevedrians, after all!' and surprised him again when she planted two kisses upon his now slightly flushed face though admittedly, he was feeling anything but displeasure at that.

'A lady after my own heart,' he answered as he returned the greeting with much gusto. 'My assistant, Njegus,' he gestured at the clerk's politely bowing figure who looked on the proceedings with some interest. 'My wife, Valencienne, would dearly love to make your acquaintance but unfortunately, the Comte de Rosillon has made his unexpected presence here…'

'Oh, it's quite all right, Baron Zeta,' she replied easily, her blue eyes twinkling. 'I can certainly meet her later on in the evening, no doubt about that…and I'm only too glad that a fellow Pontevedrian has invited me to celebrate our sovereign's birthday in Paris when I've only just arrived in this strange city.'

'Indeed, madame?' Haven't you been in Paris before?'

'No, not at all.'

'Ah, well…in that case, we'll see that we can settle you in as quickly and painlessly as possible,' he chuckled. 'Oh, no…it's not that bad, Madame Glawari,' he smiled at her look of amused puzzlement. 'The food is marvellous, the entertainment and music wonderful but the people…well, one misses the frank bluntness of the everyday Pontevedrian from time to time, I can say.'

'Is that so, Baron? Well, I'll try to adapt as well as I can tonight…and try not to offend anyone with our characteristic bluntness,' said Hanna pleasantly, taking the Baron's arm as they steadily ascended the stairs to the salon.

'And perhaps, we'll have another way of making your stay here a more pleasant one,' said Zeta, still intent on making his guest more comfortable. 'Count Danilovitsch is here with us at the embassy...I've been told that you two were once acquainted with one another.'

Zeta knew he had said something amiss when the lady on his arm nearly stopped in her tracks. Almost immediately, he looked up bemusedly into her face which had flushed slightly in the few seconds that had elapsed. But the awkwardness lasted only momentarily and she merely looked down at the hem of her dress in slight irritation.

'Oh, I knew that this was much too long before I came here,' she offered as an explanation. 'This is the second time I've nearly tripped over this thing.' A flash of a charming smile. 'I'm sorry, Baron, it's nothing. Please continue.'

'Er...very well,' he huffed though he was far from being convinced at her resumed easy air. A brief moment of silence ensued.

'You've grown silent, Baron.'

'Well, madame...I must admit being curious.'

'Oh? And for what reason?' Her casual tone was deceptive since the expression in her blue eyes was one of sharp severity.

'Everyone is quite interested – well, _I _am quite interested in how you and the Count...'

'Really, has the whole city been delving into my acquaintance with the _great_ Count Danilovitisch?' Hanna remarked testily, opening her fan with a sharp snap.

'Oh, no, no...it's just that...' Zeta backtracked, visibly flustered. Madame Glawari was proving to be the sheer epitome of the Pontevedrian woman; strong-minded, confident and yet charming at the same time. Very much like Danilo, he thought briefly of the moustachioed attaché who could probably give the widow a run for her money. Njegus, on the other hand, looked completely on tenterhooks at how this conversation was playing out in the strangest of settings.

Observing the two men before her, Hanna regained her composure – herself unsure as to why she was suddenly on edge at the mere mention of _his_ name.

'Forgive me, Baron – I seem to have taken the both of you by surprise with my bluntness. No doubt much has been said of how the Count and I are – were two of a kind. But that was a long time ago,' she said dismissively, raising the skirts of her dress as she ascended the steps once again. 'And nothing came of it and that's that.'

'I see.' Zeta shared a bemused glance with Njegus as they gingerly followed behind her.

'How have you been faring in the city so far, Madame?' he then asked, his mind turning to everyday matters and endeavouring to change the subject. 'I hope you've found a pleasant place of residence.'

'I have, yes. A villa on the outskirts of Paris.' Her tone was conversational and to his complete surprise, she seemed to have forgotten entirely on what had been said between them on the touchy subject of their debonair attaché. How bizarre women's minds were!

'A villa?' Zeta repeated. 'You have settled in very well, Madame!'

'Well, that and a cosy little residence in Paris itself…'

'Oh, very well indeed, Madame!' interjected Njegus approvingly who grew silent at the Baron's indignant glance. Hanna laughed, her easy laughter echoing lightly about the marble walls.

'It's quite all right, Baron,' said Hanna assuringly to her companion. 'I've grown quite used to talk of money and finance…and Monsieur Njegus's approval is most welcome,' she said turning to the red-faced clerk who gave a smile of relief. 'In fact, I approve of his forthright sincerity…oh, I have missed our Pontevedrian charm,' she sighed nostalgically.

Zeta felt a tendril of concern cloud his mind at this. Received much talk of money and finance! This was not good news. He had heard that she had married well and received much money at the unfortunate and sudden death of her banker husband – but how much she had received…he had not the faintest idea. Pushing back any talk of money in front of her, he merely smiled and assured her: 'If that is what you are seeking, Madame, then we will certainly try our best to supply it while you are here.'

When he had said 'we', he had expected the same from the various hordes of diplomats and gentlemen who were not of Pontevedrian extraction, currently milling about upstairs. But when the three of them had entered the salon, he was overwhelmed by the reaction the widow had created upon her entrance; both he and Njegus were unceremoniously pushed out of the way by a large group of gentlemen (which, to his chagrin, included Cascada and St. Brioche) and the poor woman was left alone and defenceless against the impromptu army of obvious suitors all eager for her attention.

His pride slightly hurt by the way in which he had been treated and with his cries of protest blatantly ignored, Zeta sought out Njegus who too looked scandalised as they watched the proceedings from afar, their backs to the far wall of the salon.

'It seems that we're not wanted, Njegus,' huffed Zeta, shaking his head.

'It seems so, Excellency.'

'Njegus…you wouldn't know exactly how much the late Monsieur Glawari left his wife, would you?' asked Zeta, cocking his head inquiringly at his assistant.

'Something of a fortune, I've been told – I overheard Messieurs Cascada and St. Brioche mention something about it this morning. Apparently, it's a sum of twenty million francs,' answered Njegus quietly, still watching the various gentlemen gradually getting closer and closer to their intended target, their amassed black tailcoats proving to be a menacing sight amongst the bright décor.

'Twenty million francs!' spluttered Zeta, his eyes widening. 'By God, it's enough to fund a country!'

Indeed, a country. And moreover, _their_ country…the Great Duchy of Pontevedro which was unfortunately on the verge of economic collapse. He had long been involved in lengthy discussions with his fellow officials and ministers about the way in which to save the country. For years, they had been trying various schemes and policies to revive their stagnating economy but to no avail…and now a fellow Pontevedrian such as the admirable Madame Glawari, who was currently putting up a splendid resistance against her fawning army of suitors across the room, had a fortune that would possible aid in the resolution of their long-fought for quest. What a godsend indeed!

But this godsend would quickly transform into a curse if one did not take steps to keep those pestering suitors at bay…some of which were admittedly very charming and beguiling to women such as the good madame. She was a widow, yes…but she was also a woman with all the sensibilities of one, whether she be French or Pontevedrian.

And moreover, Zeta's patriotic sentiments certainly had no wish to see what he saw as Pontevedrian money in foreign hands! It would be a disgrace if that ever came about!

Zeta straightened somewhat, his conscious mind now free of the initial thought of seeking out his wife and fixed intently on his newfound duty. He would find an alternative to the French suitors here, and he was certain that no one but a true Pontevedrian would do. But the question facing him now was who. Almost all of his personnel were married and their wives would be exceedingly cross indeed if he even dared broach the subject.

He scanned the crowd, intently observing the faces of his fellow officials and noting that one familiar face was not to be seen.

And that missing face, he immediately realised, was perfect for the job...no matter how fiercely Madame Glawari protested against having known this man more intimately than most present in the room.

'Njegus, have you seen Count Danilo?' Zeta asked, trying not to be overheard over the sweet strains of the violins.

'I'm afraid not, Your Excellency.'

'Damn the man, where can he be?'

'If I'm not mistaken, he should be at Maxim's, Excellency,' remarked Njegus drily, looking casually at his pocket watch. 'Yes, this would certainly be the time one would expect him there.'

'Njegus, listen to me!' Zeta whispered, pulling the clerk to one side. 'I want you to bring Count Danilo back here...'

'But, Your Excellency...'

'No 'buts'...bring Danilo here at once. And if he refuses, tell him that it's a strict order from myself. And the Fatherland.'

'But, Your Excellency, you know what he's like,' Njegus protested, his hands raised pleadingly. 'He simply won't listen to me…'

Zeta brushed off his protests impatiently. 'Not to you perhaps...but he cannot disobey an order from the Fatherland unless he wishes to be shot for treason.'

Privately, he shared Njegus's doubts and had little confidence in such a plan but there was no alternative. A man might sweep Madame Glawari off her feet before the evening was out and Pontevedro would be doomed forever. He hoped very much that Danilo's former cavalry training would at least give him the good sense to do his duty. But knowing Danilo and the amount of drinking that usually went on at Maxim's, it was doubtful whether he was going to be sober enough to have any sense at all when Njegus got there.

'And what do I do if he isn't sober, Your Excellency?' asked Njegus, reading his superior's mind all too clearly.

Zeta bit his lip ruefully. 'You might not like it, Njegus…but if you must, drag him to the Embassy with all possible dispatch!'

Njegus's lips momentarily quirked with amusement but merely bowed and left the salon, taking with him, Zeta thought, the whole fate of their country on his shoulders.


End file.
